The Other Story

You won’t hear my story,
It’s full of hope and glory.
You were raised on tales of woe and waste –
Of bullets faced and freedom chased.
So what of those who loved the war?
Gazed upon the raw force and asked for more.

You talk of the donkey,
And yes, stubborn was he,
But loyal, honourable to a fault,
Caring and uncaring of bullets made to halt,
In the face of will and noblesse oblige,
Beyond the realm of death’s strive.

The reaper took his due and more,
But life is never clearer than at his door.
When men are brothers in truth,
And women: valkyries who dain to stoop
In blood and muck with charity’s gift,
‘Till pulled by that otherworldly drift.

So what was the point of it all?
When nations fought in total brawl
Where virtue’s vices yield their price
And siren’s songs entice
Only the fools and those naive
Who refuse to see and must believe.

So you cannot hear my tale
Lest it crack your world most frail.

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